Thursday, April 2, 2015

Poem #83

I left the door to the patio
open during meditation
55 degrees this morning
after a blessedly rainy night

The fresh air
damp and cool
washes over me
As I follow my breath
damp and cool
as it washes into me

It's Saturday 
and two long freights
go by
just south of Division
Everybody loves the sound 
of a train in the distance 
I breathe its low throaty whistle
let it wash over me
In its wake
the whoosh of traffic
the jangle of chimes in the wind
the small persistent crunch
of Sammy at his bowl

The sounds of the moment
This precious moment


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